Delayed ambushes
by TheLurkerOnline
Summary: Meeting family relations can be tedious, especially when one is on a job. “Yes, I am very allergic to whatever form of rat-poison you've blessed me with today.” Well, at least Ryle has the company of a walking corpse. And a job to carry out...


Disclaimer: I don't own World of Warcraft

Warning: Mentions of drug-use, intent to kill, nasty language, sarcasm and Ryle's cooking

A/N: Thistlehead is a derogatory term for a blood elf who is addicted to blood thistle. Woo, drugs. Etc.

* * *

Sitting in Silvermoon's tavern, a fairly quiet setting with only half-a-dozen patrons scattered here and there, Ryle groaned, deliberately drawing out the sound for greater melodramatic effect. The petite she-elf setting herself down on the stool opposite gave him a narrow-eyed look as she passed over a glass of some dark purple liquid to him.

"I am /not/ drinking that." He muttered darkly. "Probably poisoned."

"You'd refuse my hospitality, cousin~dear? And you shouldn't be so blunt. You could have at least pretended you were allergic to the contents or such." She sounded indignant, one hand propped under her chin, the other gesturing towards the glass.

"Yes, I am very allergic to whatever form of rat-poison you've blessed me with today." Chuckling in a manner he was pretty sure she'd inevitably say was infuriating, he finally asked the question that had hung unspoken since she first contacted him to meet here. "So, why did you bring me here?"

"Don't laugh, it just makes you sound even more of a buffoon than you act. And what makes you think it wasn't just for the family reunion?" The female elf fiddled with the stem of her glass, red hair sliding down her face to partly conceal her eyes. Ryle noticed she still hadn't drunk any of her drink either. Well, so she was going to play difficult then. Not quite acknowledging the footsteps coming up behind him, he spoke up, sarcasm littered on each word.

"_Clearly_ you were just _dying_ to mysteriously contact me out of the blue, after a _twenty-five year silence_ between us that began with the words '_I hope you get the pox and die, you insufferable simian-like thistlehead tosser_'_._ I mean, it's such a statement of adoration and-" He was cut off by a leather-clad arm reaching over his shoulder, grasping the glass of probable poison with fingers that appeared to be more like claws, even in gloves. "...Draelos? You're early. Very early. Unusual."

The newcomer eyed the drink speculatively, an almost curious expression on his partly rotted features as he sniffed the contents of the glass. He shrugged, and Ryle started to speak up "_It's posioned-",_ but Draelos had already gulped it down by the time Ryle got past '_it's'. _

Well, he /was/ already dead, Ryle supposed there wasn't much more poison could do to him. "Merliji, this is Draelos. Draelos, this is my cousin Merliji." He didn't bother adding 'I hope you get along' as any meeting that started with poisoning was practically destined not to lead to happy relations. "How'd it taste?"

"Like wyvern urine. We need to get killing." Drae, straight to the point. Silvermoon must've been making him uncomfortable, Ryle supposed. Normally the forsaken was more verbose than that, drawing out statements into near-poetical remarks. Still... He pouted and blinked up at Draelos, trying to look forlorn. "Hey, you owe me a drink now."

The forsaken shrugged and opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Merliji slamming both hands onto the tabletop. "Stop ignoring me! Ryle, you need to go home."

"...Wait, didn't you just try and kill me?" He was shocked, she'd shown several signs of nervousness but very persistent when offering to buy him a drink, it would only stand to reason that...

"It was a mild hallucinogen." _Aahh, that explains it. _"And you're a sunwell-cursed _Thistlehead_ anyway." She was wary now, it showed in her luminous geen eyes flickering back and forth between Drae and himself, and the repeated clenching and unclenching of small hands, almost in preparation for a spell. "You going to kill me for that?"

Ryle glanced questioningly up at his companion, eyebrows raised, but Draelos just grinned, lopsided due to a sword that had at one point widened the left side of his mouth. "Nope. Why bother? It could make this evening's entertainment rather more entertaining though. Ryle, please make sure I don't savage a garden bench or such. Or do something other than savage. You know what other I refer to, don't make me say it."

"But... I..." Merliji trailed off, off-kilter at the lack of retribution. The forsaken made a passable attempt at rolling his eyes. Impressive with no eyelids. "Okay, for a different explanation let's leave it at: 'I like redheads'. Afterall, it's not as if Ryle hasn't tried to poison me with what he calls 'cooking'. And I haven't killed him."

"Oh, come on! I'm no herbalist, I can't be expected to correctly identify plants all the time..."

"And explosive powder is /not/ seasoning! Or a decent pepper substitute! It just tasted like sand."

"Says the one who snitched my arclite spanner to use as a make-shift spoon!"

"And a crappy spoon it made too." Muttered in the most deadpan of tones.

Ryle snickered, too amused at the forsaken's obvious pretence of uttermost seriousness and sincerity. It might have been less obvious if the corners of Drae's mouth didn't keep twitching. "Maybe we could try feeding our target. It'd be one method of disposing with him."

"Ah, yes, we'd best be going Lady Merliji." Ignoring his companion's mutter of '_Lady? Ha!', _Draelos executed a courtly bow, made imperfect only by the sound of bone scraping on bone as he straightened back up. Murmuring _"As we planned."_ to Ryle, the forsaken left, presumably to wait at the chosen ambush site. Ryle yawned and stretched, and made off to follow, but was prevented by the sudden formation of ice crystals around his ankles. _Bloody frost mages. Or bloody cousin in this case._

"You are not going anywhere till I hear you will at least visit your parents."

Ryle groaned again, an exact copy of the one when Merliji gave him his drink. "They don't want anything to do with me. Thistlehead, remember? You keep throwing that word in my face, so you can't have forgotten."

"Your mother is dying."

Dispelling the frost nova, and turning around, pointedly presenting his back, Ryle questioned in a detached tone: "So what? And next time you decide on a little get-together, I'm buying the drinks. You'd best watch for poison in your own."

Striding away, he noticed she didn't try to stop him after that.

_ Ambush, ambush... Time to find the target. He's not going to wander where we want him to on his own after all._ The blood elf paused before the sign-post, before choosing the path towards the market, the most likely place to find anyone in Silvermoon. _No one escapes cheating the Apothecarium. This one's just lucky enough to be killed. Useless as a test subject, at least while alive._

Spotting the target, huddled to one side watching the fountain, Ryle grinned. _Show time._


End file.
